Dear Boss
by FireyFantasy
Summary: Something is happening in 19th century London and it's up to 200-year-old vampire Antonio to investigate.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

10th September 1888 - Whitechapel, London

Antonio Hernandez was shoved against a wall. Hard.

"Look at the pathetic little man, boys," sneered a voice somewhere above him.

_If only they knew who I really am._

"Ha! He's not even fighting back!" The owner of this voice did not have the distinctive British accent.

_If only they knew what I can do._

"Is that how they raise people outside the city?" He had a crude American accent instead.

_If only they knew what I have done._

"Hey! Look up, Spic*! I want to see the look on your face while I beat you senseless!" The voice said, firmly gripping Antonio's collar.

_If only they knew what I am._

Antonio looked up. His green eyes met the blue ones of the American. He wasn't surprised when he saw the American waver slightly.

Anyone could tell that his eyes weren't normal. Green eyes with flecks of gold don't usually occur in regular people. _Regular mortals_.

What was he? For the longest time, he himself didn't know. The name he used now was a name he adopted only 70 short years ago.

_Vampyre_.

He couldn't resist a chuckle. It was a mortal that gave him that name. Someone he loved dearly who just so happened to live in this very city when he was alive.

"What are you laughing about? You spics are plumb* crazy!" The American shoved him again, laughing like an idiot.

He wasn't thirsty at the moment but he had to turn his nose away from the man, his scent disgusted the Spaniard. He won't even try to drink his blood, even if forced.

No doubt, this man's blood had vitality but his arrogance would have poisoned his blood, making it taste sour. But he so wanted to punish this man. He would take that little thing all men take for granted. And smash it to pieces with his bare hands.

Their lives.

He was already planning the death of the blond man in front of him until –

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" This new voice obviously belonged to a British citizen, judging from the strikesexy/strike thick accent.

Antonio looked at the newcomer. It was a little difficult to look over the tall American's shoulder after one has been shoved onto a wall a few times but with his vampiric senses and stamina, he had a good look at the newcomer.

The British man was leanly built with a mop of messy light blond hair. His most distinctive feature, however, was not his extremely thick eyebrows. It was his eyes. They were a brilliant shade of emerald so unlike his own before he turned.

At that moment, those eyes were curved to a frown.

"Alfred," he said, "don't you have anything better to do than to start fights."

"But Artie! He was asking for it!"

"Alfred F. Jones, put him down this instant! That is an order, young man!"

"Artie, why do you always have to be the biggest toad in the puddle*," the American scoffed as he released Antonio from his grip.

"Listen here, Spic, this was just a caution*. Next time, don't go cavorting* into a pub like you own the place," he said, though with less enthusiasm. "You're lucky Artie showed up, otherwise…"

"Alfred, get out!"

"I'm going, I'm going!"

The American left along with most of the men. The Briton watched them leave and then walked towards Antonio.

"I would like to apologize for the actions of my ward," he said, "The lad was a sneaky dipper* up until a few years back. I've been having trouble with him ever since. But he's usually a good lad. Usually."

"There's no ne-," Antonio began.

The Briton cut him off.

"No, the lad's behaviour is unacceptable. As an apology, I insist that I buy you a pint."

Antonio stared at him. Did this man just asked him out for a drink? Well, who was he to refuse!

"Si, why not!" He agreed, "If a man can stop a fight just by talking to an arrogant boy, he would need to explain his methods over a drink!"

The Briton laughed as he held out his hand.

"Name's Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland. And the reason for the lad's behaviour, I'm the Chief of Police."

* * *

><p><span>19th century American slangs:<span>

Spic – A racial slang, short for Hispanic (Alfred is dumb XD)

Plumb - entirely; completely

A caution – A warning

Biggest toad in the puddle - The most important person in a group

Cavort - To frolic or prance about.

19th century British slangs:

Dipper – Pickpocket


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**10th September 1888**

**The Britannia, corner of Commercial and Dorset Street, London**

"So what brings you here to The Britannia?" Asked Arthur as the bartender set down their drinks, Britannia being the name of the pub they were currently in. "It can't be for the glorious sights."

Antonio smiled, "No, I'm no fan of British pub décor," he chuckled,"I'm merely a traveller passing by," he lied, police or not, not everyone can be trusted. "That is, until your neanderthal of a ward decided that my face needed arranging."

Antonio watched Arthur finish his drink quickly and ordered another one. No doubt the main reason he was here. To be polite, Antonio sipped his drink as well. Alcohol, no matter how much he drank, had no effect on his system. It was broken down the instant it hit his stomach. Besides, he preferred tequila.

"So Arthur, I highly doubt that your purpose in coming here was to save me," Antonio began, "So what is the Chief of Police doing in a public house* this late at night?"

Arthur downed his second drink.

"I've been working none stop these couple of days, only just managed to excuse myself! Ever since those Whitechapel murders, all these bleeding nancy-boys* inspectors think that they're the boss of me! Wankers…"

Antonio perked up at the word 'murders'. Was it luck? Could this man be the person who can give him all the answers? Could this man provide the answers for the real reason he was in London? _"¡Ay, Dios mío! For once, I was in the right place at the right time."_ The British gentleman was a terrible drinker. Two drinks and he was already halfway drunk! Antonio made a mental note of that. Another glass was emptied.

"Those bloody inspectors don't understand real work, and I have no choice to but to pocket* it!" Arthur said, getting angry as he downed a forth glass. "They don't know that works of a serial killer even if it bit them in the arse. All they had me do was to write reports. I'm a rozzer* for pete's sake not a bleeding secretary!"

Antonio smiled._ He was_.

"Bullocks!" Arthur exclaimed, clapping a hand over his mouth, "I'm not supposed to say all that!"

Antonio wasn't surprised, he tended to have that effect on people. The people he talked to tended to trust him instantly and will spill their darkest secrets if he asked them too. It may well be one of his underdeveloped vampiric powers.

Or maybe he just had a cute face.

"You aren't a journalist are you?" Arthur asked suspiciously as he turned to Antonio. Antonio noted the blush that was slowly creeping on Arthurs face.

"No, no. Like I said, I'm just your humble traveller."

"Good, now forget everything I said!"

"If you say so, Artie."

"Do not call me that!"

"Sure, _inglés_."

"Was that an insult! Don't you dare insult me you bloody wanker!"

This went on for some time, Arthur was a fun drunk, Antonio thought as they continued talking and bickering. It wasn't long until Arthur was a drunken mess and Antonio volunteered to carry him home. Arthur agreed and climbed onto Antonio's back without a moments hesitation. "Onward, mighty steed!"

And what a sight they were. A 200-year-old vampire carrying the Chief of Police piggy-back style. It was nothing to Antonio, he could lift an African elephant with one hand if he wanted to, but Arthur still had a bottle of English Bitter* in his hand and was singing the British National Anthem at the top of his voice. It was a great relief for Antonio when he dropped Arthur in front of his home.

"This was the best night of my life!" Arthur slurred as he opened his front door. "Wanna come in for a night cap?"

"Si, I would be glad to but I don't think you can handle another drink, mi amigo." Said Antonio as he entered Arthurs apartment.

"NONSENSE," The obvious drunk yelled, "I'm English, we invented ale!"

"That's not an explanation for the fact that you're unable to control the volume of your voice."

"Pssssshhhhh!" was what he got as a reply.

Arthur straightened up (or tried to) and seemed to make a gesture to shake Antonio's hand but lost his balance almost immediately. The vampire caught him in time. Arthur looked up.

"As a gentleman, I would like to formally thank you for both being my drinking buddy and then dragging my sorry arse back home."

What happened next shocked the vampire. Arthur kissed him! From his angle, all Arthur had to do was use Antonio's neck as leverage to lift himself up. Their lips touched only for a moment before pulling away. That moment, however, was enough to drive Antonio's senses crazy. The Brit had to have fantastic scent up close, a prelude to no doubt fantastic blood. Antonio had to suppress an animalistic groan that was slowly rising.

"Thanks for the awesome night!" Arthur slurred and immediately after that, passed out.

Laughing slightly, Antonio hoisted the Englishman on his shoulders once again and went looking for a place to drop him, still fighting the instinct to bite him. Finding a sofa, he gently laid him down. As he bent down, he caught a glimpse at Arthur's jugular vein. He could feel his canines getting longer, his instincts slowly taking over.

He brushed his lengthened fangs against Arthur's neck, wanting so much to bite it and taste his blood. But he stopped himself.

No. Not yet. The Englishman had alcohol in his system, not much, but his blood would taste dilute because of it.

Antonio was especially picky when it came to his victims. He didn't just choose a random person to quench his thirst. Maybe at first when he was younger, but now, blood was like vintage wine. To be sampled and consumed at the height of taste. And to a vampire of heightened senses, blood _was_ wine. Everyone's has a unique taste, shaped and developed by their actions and personalities.

As he laid Arthur on the sofa, however, he couldn't resist giving him a small nip on the neck. Not hard enough to draw blood but enough to leave a mark. The Englishman was his now.

"I'm sorry I lied to you, Arthur." He whispered.

There was something going on in this dreary London town. _Something not normal_.

Antonio came to London to seek a possible ally. Or kill the competition.

* * *

><p><strong>*<span>19th century British slang:<span>***

Public House – A bar, shortened to "pub"  
>Nancy-boy – Weak or effeminate men (Arthur was insulting them)<br>Pocket it – Put up with it  
>Rozzers - Policemen<br>English Bitter - A type of ale

*Spanish:*  
>¡Ay, Dios mío! - Oh my God!<br>Inglés - Englishman  
>Mi amigo - My friend<p>

* * *

><p>AN: The Britannia is the _real_ name for a _real_ pub in the 19th century! You guys don't know how much I squee'd when I found out


	3. Chapter 3

**I am sooooo sorry for taking so long to update! I ****...****have no excuse OTL**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

**12****th**** September 1888 **

**Dorset Street, Spitalfields**

"Forget."

The young woman's eyes rolled as she closed them and fell into a deep sleep. Antonio straightened up, licking his lips and walked away from his latest victim. She was still alive. Antonio had learned a long time ago that if he didn't kill every one of his meals, he would be able to stay in one place longer. Also, if a person had exceptional blood, keeping them alive would be akin to having a bottomless bottle of fine wine. Most of his victims tended to wake up after a prolonged nap with a terrible headache, a good trade-off for their lives.

This women had in particular had offered to sell him some exquisite tomatoes! They were big and juicy, almost exactly like those in his native land. He was so captivated by them that he took her then and there. As a vampire, eating mortal food wasn't a necessity but Antonio still ate when he could. Besides, he couldn't live (no pun intended) without his Las Magras con Tomate*. As he left, he took the bag of said tomatoes and placed some money where she can find it. He stepped out of the building he was in. The night air was crisp and cool, he would eat outdoors today!

"Well, well, if it isn't the traveller Antonio. Fancy seeing you leaving such an establishment."

Antonio turned, he had recognized the voice almost immediately. Sure enough, Arthur was approaching him. And he was wearing his police uniform.

"Arturo! Hola, mi amigo*! Working late I see."

Arthur ignored his statement and said: "I didn't know you had an interest in ladybirds*," he had a smirk on his face.

"¿Que?" It took him a few seconds to figure it out. He looked like he just left a brothel. And Arthur had seen him. "Arthur, mi amigo! I… eh…" he couldn't believe this, he was centuries older that the policeman in front of him yet he was stuttering like a kid! "It… it's not what it looks like!" He said as he raised his hand in front of him. "I'm innocent, Arturo! I was shopping!"

Arthur had raised an eyebrow in an attempt to look stern, but his smirk betrayed him.

"It that what they call it where you come from?" he reached for something on his belt, "In the name of the Queen, you are under arrest." Arthur produced a pair of handcuffs as he walked towards Antonio, now it was the vampire's turn to smirk. This was going to be fun.

Antonio remained where he was until he saw the flash of metal indicating that Arthur was near. At the last second, he merely stepped out of the way, causing policemen to stumble.

"Wanker!"

"So Arthur, may I ask why the chief of police is out here in this secluded corner when there is crime elsewhere in London?" Antonio asked, in the tone one would use to discuss the weather. Arthur made another go at him. Once again, the vampire side-stepped him easily, still holding the bag of tomatoes. "I mean, it can't be just to harass a poor, innocent tourist." He said as he out-manoeuvred the policeman a third, fourth and fifth time.

Arthur was panting. "You're pretty nimble for a mere tourist," he said suspiciously.

"¿Que? Me? I'm Spanish, we bullfight and run with the bulls once a year. I have to be, no?" said Antonio with an innocent face. "So, are you going to answer my question now? Why are you here?"

"The police force is tightening security around the area in case the Whitechapel murderer strikes again." Arthur answered immediately. "Dammit!" He covered his mouth with his gloved hand, "I wasn't supposed to say that! Why is it I such a blower* when I'm near you!"

Antonio just smiled.

"Hmph, bloody tourist," Arthur said as he straightened up, "Fine, I believe you. You're lucky I'm in a good mood." he had given up and was walking away, he looked back, "Otherwise, I would've slapped a drag* on you."

Antonio watched Arthur's slowly disappearing figure. The man did not remember a thing from two nights ago. He didn't know whether to be relieved or mad. "You were so much more fun when you were drunk," he pouted. He took out a tomato from the bag and bit into it as he walked the opposite direction.

For the past couple of days, Antonio had been sneaking into Arthur's apartment and reading some of his personal police reports. Though Arthur's was particularly detailed, he needed the complete reports to obtain what he needs, full undisclosed information about what the police call "The Whitechapel Murders". And for that, he needed to break into the police station, the very one Arthur was in. It was also disheartening that Arthur was never there.

Antonio wanted the Brit under his power.

He wanted to feel him.

He wanted to feed on him.

He wanted to taste his blood as it flowed down his throat.

So why did he let this chance slip by!

He sighed, he knew the answer. Taunting the Brit was fun, and the flustered blush that creeped onto the Englishman's face while he did it was simply too cute!

Antonio walked on, still munching on a tomato but all that thinking had made him lose his appetite, both normal and supernatural.

"¡Ay, Dios mío! What is going on with me!" He threw the tomato behind him.

Three seconds later, he heard an angry outburst.

"OI! WHAT'S THE BIG DEAL BASTARD!" A voice yelled.

Antonio looked behind him, in an alley, 5 feet away, he saw a red-faced Italian.

With an equally red tomato on his head.

* * *

><p><strong>*<span>19th century British slang:<span>***

**Ladybird - Prostitute  
>Blower - Informer<br>Drag - A three month gaol sentence**

***Spanish:***  
><strong>Las Magras con Tomate - An Aragonese cuisine from the Aragon region of Spain. It's mainly slices of slightly fried serrano ham dipped in tomato sauce served.<strong>  
><strong>¿Qué? - "Huh?" or "What?"<strong>  
><strong>Hola, mi amigo - Hello, my friend<strong>  
><strong>¡Ay, Dios mío! - Oh my God!<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>AN And we have a new character! Writing Spain doesn't feel right if I don't put in a little Spamano :D But don't worry, SpUK will still be the main pairing! Reviews are appreciated. Hope you enjoy this~~**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**

**Yeah, I haven't uploaded in a long while, I know. Uni is killing me but now it's summer holidays bitches! I have more free time! Enjoy the latest update guys!**

* * *

><p><strong>Same Day<strong>

"You know, those tomatoes were meant for me…" Antonio began, watching the Italian shove fruit after fruit down his throat.

"Shut up, bastard. You owe me after ruining my best suit!"

"Best?"

Antonio looked at the Italian's "suit". Sure, it was elegant and looked expensive but that was if it were new. The suit looked like it hadn't been washed in weeks and was old, faded and out-dated. "Probably a few years younger that myself," He thought. It seemed that this Italian was trying to look like an aristocrat and was failing miserably. His hair was a rat's nest with one large curl sticking out. And to top off the look, the collar and a bit of the front was stained red with tomato juice, and it kind of looked horribly like -

"Oi, stop staring at me, you pervert!"

The Italian himself was the exact opposite of his suit; Young and energetic. At least, that was the way the boy was inhaling tomato after tomato. He was also rude beyond imagination. His choice of words made Antonio want to wash out the boy's mouth with a large bar of soap. But there was something about the Italian that was… endearing.

"You know, I have a name, _chico_. And I expect you to know it since that is my dinner you're finishing." Antonio said from his position above the boy. He was leaning against the alley wall while the other was seated on a wooden box. They were still in the narrow alley where Antonio had supposedly thrown his half-eaten tomato at the Italian. "Or, you could tell me yours."

Antonio wasn't mad, he didn't have an appetite anyway, but the boy could be a little more polite or show some form of gratitude. At least he was cute. He saw the Italian stopped momentarily, as if to consider this, but just shot the vampire an angry glare and went back to eating. The boy had resisted Antonio's direct question. The older man was intrigued! Only few had that kind of willpower.

When the boy didn't reply further, he bent down and started poking the boy's cheek. That did it for the Italian.

"Fuck! Would you stop that! It's Lovino, okay, and I don't care who you are! Can I eat in peace now!"

"And I'm Antonio. Hola!" The man had his usual goofy grin on, he was just glad to see the boy openup. Even if he did clam up immediately after. "You're cute with your cheeks bunched up like that." He continued, avoiding the question and still poking. He noticed the boy had a habit of chewing with only one side of his mouth. That combined with the blush on Lovino's face from his outburst made Antonio want to squeeze the life out of the boy. Figuratively, of course.

He had to make do with just picturing it which, unfortunately, made him look glazed. This wasn't missed by the Italian.

"Pervert!"

"…"

"Would you quit staring if I share the last piece with you?"

"Si." Antonio said cheerfully, this small man was as interesting as his British gentleman.

Lovino took a dagger out of his coat pocket. In a flash, he had cut the tomato into half expertly, wiped the juice off with his already stained coat and replaced the dagger in his pocket. All in just a few seconds. He then tossed the tomato half to shocked Antonio.

"Here bastard, though you don't deserve it!"

The older man caught it, amazed by the skill and strength of the throw. This Italian was just full of surprises wasn't looked at the tomato half mere millimetres from his face, his appetite still hasn't return and he didn't feel like giving it back to Lovino who it seemed had intended it to make contact with his face. He decided on the best course of action. He straightened up….

And threw the tomato at Lovino's unsuspecting face. Again.

Lovino's reaction was instantaneous.

"CHE PALLE, TU FIGLIO DI PUTTANA*! WHAT THE FUCKING HELL WAS THAT FOR BASTARDO!"

~ Elsewhere~

2 blocks away, Arthur was leaning against a wall. He took off his police helmet and ran a hand through his hair, he hoped that Antonio didn't suspect anything. You see, the police chief was hiding something. He remembered everything. The laughs. The supposed insults. The fact that Antonio had carried him home. The kiss...

Especially the kiss.

He groaned. "Stiff upper lip*, chap," He muttered to himself. He had managed to hide his blush previously when he saw Antonio. It had worked, Antonio didn't know how flustered Arthur really was. But now, he felt his barriers collapsing. Barriers he didn't know existed.

He suddenly felt cramped, unable to breath and proceeded to unbutton the top his police coat and shirt, exposing his neck to the cool British air. If any of his subordinates or, God forbid, the Jacks* saw him like this, it would soil his respectable image that he had worked so hard to get.

But at this moment, he didn't care. He needed to clear his head, to think rationally about these… these feelings. Arthur had always known that he wasn't like other men, though he did find many a women attractive, he was never attracted to them physically or emotionally. He had reasoned to himself that he may only be attracted to the right kind of girl, whoever she may be. Still, he had never been attracted to a man before. His heart fluttered just thinking about it. Antonio's olive skin, his mesmerizing green eyes, his brown locks pulled back in a ponytail, his smile. This was a man any girl would want. But did he?

"Bullocks," he thought," This is not a normal feeling!"

He cast his eyes to the night sky, hoping to find answers or at least some way make the situation less complicated. Neither came. Waning gibbous stared back at him, her soft light seemed to comfort him and at the same time telling him to get off his ass and admit that he liked Antonio.

~xXx~

Above all this, a man stood watching. Standing on the high balcony of one of the nearby buildings, where the light of brightly lit street below couldn't reach, he saw everything. His emerald eyes surveyed the police chief as he walked away. He put a cigarette between his lips, even from up here he could see that the chief was having an internal conflict.

"Oh Arthur, what have you gotten yourself into."

He blew the smoke from his lungs and watched it slowly curl and disappear in the wind. A smirk played on his lips as he shook his red hair from his eyes. Arthur's eyes.

"This should be interesting."

The man threw the cigarette on the ground and crushed it with his heel. Hard.

* * *

><p><strong>*<span>19th century British slang:<span>***  
><strong>Stiff upper lip – To remain resolute and unemotional in the face of adversity, or even tragedy<strong>  
><strong>Jacks – Policemen but usually referring to detectives<strong>

***Spanish:***  
><strong>Chico - Kid<strong>

***Italian:***  
><strong>Che Palle - What balls! (Used in anger or embarrassment) If you're a Hetalia fan you would already know this<strong>  
><strong>Tu Figlio di Putana - You son of a bitch!<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Waning Gibbous (Waning Moon) - This is a time that represents completion. The culmination of all that has come before. Wrapping things up, finalizing details and finishing projects. The waning moon is used for banishing magick, for ridding oneself of addictions, illness or negativity.<strong>

**Alternate title for this chapter: Lovino and the Endless Bag of Tomatoes :P**

**Even when writing this I was wondering how many tomatoes were in the bag and how heavy it must've been... And who is this mysterious new person? Hmm. Stay tuned for the next chapter of... DEAR BOSS! /shot'd**

**Fun fact: In some parts of England in 2002, there was a proposed change in the headgear of the police force in order to 'modernize' them. The change: baseball caps. They were obviously unsuccessful.**


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